


Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

by captainfalcon



Category: Scarecrow Series - Matthew Reilly
Genre: Agender Character, And gets a new relationship in the process, Drugs, Grief/Mourning, Literally there's like one sex scene, Other, Shane tries to get over Libby, blowjob, not much sex, poor pizza guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfalcon/pseuds/captainfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane meets a drug dealer on the side of the road. I suck at summaries.</p><p>This work is finished. I'll drop a new chapter every day or so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rules of dealing

**Author's Note:**

> Codeine is a precursor drug to morphine and makes you sleepy. I'm not a druggie. Promise. Everything in this work is fiction and I literally know nothing about drug dealing or sex or being a US Marine or anything else.  
> Don't do drugs kids.

First rule of dealing: have a range of sources over a long period of time.

A long time ago, I worked in a pharmacy. I read all the protocols, got the faxes about suspicious people, and yeah, I sold drugs to people here and there. The difference between now and then is that now, I'm operating outside the law in seedy back alleys behind dumpsters.

Nothing makes drug dealing easier than a background in either law, pharmacy, or both. I learned from experience the best spots to meet, and you can be damn sure I took self defence lessons. Every now and then, I'd head into the pharmacy across from the hall where I took the classes with a limp, look the pharmacy assistant in the eye with a meek smile, and ask for the strong pain relief.  
"20 or 35?" she'd ask.  
"35 please." I'd say with another smile. She'd always oblige, glancing at the pharmacist and shepherding me over to the one checkout in the tiny store.

Second rule: always get something else with your purchase.

I would grab a small packet of jellybeans or a tin of butterscotch and plop them on the counter. She'd ring it off, I'd pay, and then I'd leave. Always got a bag - nothing better than walking into your house with a box of codeine exposed to the world every few days to get a few anonymous tip offs to Crimestoppers.

Getting the drugs was the easy part, relatively speaking. You felt out the trusting pharmacies and learnt which ones to avoid, made sure to visit them irregularly and always had a good excuse for it. Separating out the codeine, that was harder, but possible. The hardest part was getting rid of the damn stuff.

Third rule: never meet in the same place twice.

I met people in back alleys, in car parks, on highways ("engine trouble?"), just about any place you can think of, but we never met at a house and I'd never visit the same place twice. I met Shane when I was on another job, dropping off a few hundred dollars worth with a guy on the side of the highway when he stopped to help. My buyer nearly crapped himself when he saw a muscly guy with black spiky hair and reflective Oakleys get out and walk towards us, looking murderous, so I pushed him towards his boot to "grab the toolkit" and did the talking.

As the guy came closer, however, his face lightened and I realised that he was coming to help us with the car. "You guys need any help?" he asked, his voice ringing authoritatively across the shoulder. American accent, but not obnoxiously so - clear and educated.  
"Nah, we're all good here. Just a loose belt, easy to fix." I said smoothly.

He nodded obligingly, smiled quickly, and turned to go. My breathing returned to normal again but then, before I could turn around, his face went hard and he stared over my shoulder. I turned to see my guy stock still next to the car, eyes wide with fear, and the fucking bag clutched in his white knuckled hand. He looked like he was shitting bricks and to be honest, so was I. I turned back to sunglasses, planning to play dumb, but to my surprise he had his hand out to shake mine. I took it tentatively since he seemed like the kind of guy who could take me down with one leg.

"Shane. You a dealer?" he asked.  
"Uh, well, I guess…" I stuttered. "You a cop?"  
"Nope. Used to be a Marine but uh…" he trailed off, his face tilting away like he was having some kind of flashback.  
I'd seen this before - people using drugs to cope with griefs and trauma. Hell, what am I supposed to do about it?  
"Yeah, I get it. You want me to hook you up?"  
"Well, I, uh, I mean does it work for people?" he asked, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck.  
"Um, I sell to a few people who use for grief and depression and all that, so uh, I guess so." I told him, suddenly very uncomfortable. Hell, I’m not in the business to ask people about their lives. I just do it to get a few bucks.

Shane nodded gently and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. He scrawled a number on it and handed it to me. "Text me later." And just like that, he turned sharply on the spot, gravel crunching, and stepped off towards his own car. I watched him drive off, then turned to my whimpering buyer.

"Mate, what the fuck were you thinking? Just… just get in the damn car and go." I headed off, slamming my car door and resting my head on the cool leather steering wheel. What the hell just happened?


	2. crushcrushcrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they make plans.

I'm sitting in my lounge room, turning the scrap of paper over in my hand. It's an Australian number so I guess he's either moved here or he's bought a disposable phone for his trip. The TV is turned up loud, but I have no idea what the show is. I just want to have something to fill my ears. The mysterious Marine (sounds like a damn cartoon character) had said to text him. What am I supposed to say? 'Hey it's me, the drug dealer'?

There's a box of tablets sitting on the kitchen bench, beckoning. I don't know why I'm so spooked, maybe because of that fuckwit trying to get us caught. This should be as routine as distilling the drugs - just text the guy, get another customer. Easy. Christ, how did this happen to me? I went to private school, for Pete's sake. I'm sure they'd be happy to have me on the alumni wall.

"Fuck this," I mumble to my empty flat, grabbing the fresh box and cracking the seal. I head over to my setup which is conveniently located inside a cupboard with a lock and crack out all the tablets, throwing the empty blister sheets and the box in the little bin in the corner. I empty it bit by bit so if anyone goes through my trash they'll only find one or two together. The rhythmic cracking sound and familiar pattern soothes me somehow, focussing my brain. In fact, it slows my mind enough for me to realise why I'm so flustered: I've got a goddamn crush.

Cursing myself, I snatch my phone off the table and type in the number.

_Nice meeting you today. Catch up sometime?_

I hesitate for just a fraction of a second before I hit send. Nonchalant, unsuspicious. Awesome. I pace my roomy apartment for a few minutes before realising I'm being ridiculous and obsessive so I shut the cupboard and go to the kitchen. For all the home ec classes they put me through in school, I can't cook for shit so it's tinned stew once again. I'm halfway through the homologous sludge when my phone buzzes - finally. I grab it, shovelling a bit of what might be beef into my mouth, and unlock it.

There's a text from Shane -

_Sounds good. You pick a place - I'm still learning the city._

He seems pretty intelligent, like the kind of guy who would know at least one good cafe in a damn city, but hey. I text back as I chew on something which is probably passable as carrot.

_How about Kissane's? Meet there at 10 tomorrow?_

It was a new cafe in the Brisbane CBD, quiet as an upstart business but busy enough in the buzzing city.

_Sounds good._

**  
**I nodded at the phone for some reason, scarfing the rest of my stew to drown the butterflies in my stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post comments guys! I want to know what you think :)


	3. Is this a date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's up to you to decide.

Kissane's is only a ten minute walk from my flat but I'm out the door at 9:40 anyway, just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure. I still haven't got a read on this guy; for all I know, he's gonna bring a bunch of cops down on me. Then again, he doesn't even know my name yet. All I've got with me is my wallet, phone, and headphones. Still, I'm not defenceless; I wore my big-ass combat boots from my Air Force Cadet days just in case. Bet they'd be proud of what an upstanding citizen I turned out to be as well. I wanted to be a pilot when I joined. Fuck that. Those boots make me feel strong and protected normally - I know that with a fairly light kick in the back of the knees with these babies can drop a beefcake bodyguard just like that - but today they make me feel like a vulnerable little kid. I turn my music up louder and stride down the street into the little cafe.  
It's 10:04 when Shane drops into the seat across from me. I'm halfway through a latte already.  
"I thought Marines were supposed to be punctual," I taunt him.  
He gives me a withering look and signals for the waitress, politely ordering a cappuccino. With that over and done with, he turned his attention to me. He's still wearing his reflective Oakleys, even though we're inside. Maybe he’s got a retinal disease or something, I think.  
"So what's your story then? Had to rescue some poor bugger broken down on the highway?" I ask him with a smirk.  
He returned the look, pouring sugar into his coffee and stirring it slowly. "Nah, I've learnt my lesson. Not doing that again. No, I overslept. That's been happening lately."  
He stares deep into his coffee. There's that sorrow again - even without seeing his eyes, I can tell he's feeling anguish and sorrow.  
"What's your actual story?" I prompt gently. No sense rushing into business.  
"Well. My story. Damn. Might as well start from the start, eh?" he says, taking a gulp of coffee. "Well, I started out as a pilot. I was, well, not to brag or anything but I was good. Damn good. They sent me out on a recon mission over Bosnia when I was fresh out of training. Routine in and out. But I was shot down, and that… that changed me forever.  
"I was captured. They tortured me and questioned me for so long, asking why we were spying and where the others were. I didn't tell them shit, I don't think. Anyway, because I had seen what I shouldn't have… they tried to cut my eyes out."  
He pauses, breathing deeply. That explains the sunnies.  
"The Bosnian leader slashed my eyes with a razor and they left me to die in a cupboard. A Marine Recon unit was sent in to get me. God knows why the CO risked a whole unit for one pilot but he did.  
"Anyway, they got me out and the docs saved my sight, 20/20, but… well, they grounded me. You can't fly after any eye trauma at all so I was grounded permanently. And to add insult to injury, as it were, I ended up with these damn massive scars."  
He dropped his sunglasses just a centimetre or so, and I saw the tips of two long scars stretching down. Poor guy. I'd never take my sunglasses off either.  
He went on to tell me about his life; retraining as a line animal, ranking up to command his own recon unit in no time, not being able to save the guy who rescued him in Bosnia, fighting his own government (on several occasions), and eventually getting caught up in some fucked up bounty hunt and losing his Marine girlfriend. He was on 'stress leave' after trying to kill himself on a cliff top in France somewhere after finding out that some businessman had killed her. He wanted to get away from everyone and everything, so he came to a country where nobody knew his name.  
We went through countless coffees and countless hours at that little table. Eventually though, he came to the end of his story and we sat there in silence for a few minutes.  
"Well shit, Marine. You don't even know my name, let alone my story, but it's a hell of a lot less impressive than that. " I laugh. He smiles at me, appreciating my attempt to lighten the mood a little.  
"Tell me about you, then. Everyone's got a story."


	4. backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just what it says on the tin. sorry but it's necessary.

"Well, my name's Soren. It wasn't always, but anyway. I grew up a couple hours west of here, but we all moved away right before I turned five. I came back here to go to uni, so that went well. I guess I was pretty average growing up, smart as a kid until the system caught up with me around grade seven. I stopped feeling smart and started getting depressed and anxious. I was a perfectionist but I didn't want to do anything unless I could get it dead right. Still, a less-than-A mark wouldn't kill me.  
In grade 8, I tried to kill myself a few times, made the mistake of leaving my note lying around the first time and then told a fucking crisis line the next time. Never do that.  
"Anyway, grade 9 I started having psychotic episodes and panic attacks. Fun times. I cut every day just about. Wore my school jacket a lot, even if it was boiling. Didn't talk a whole lot. Grade 10 my marks went to shit but at least I was kinda happy again sometimes. The rest of high school was just a blur, shifting my plans every five seconds. And somewhere in there, I figured I wasn't the girl that I was supposed to be and I sure as hell wasn't straight. I don't get along with my parents anymore… I guess you can relate to that. I mean, not that it's anything to real serving life but I was an Air Force Cadet as a teenager. I wanted to join the RAAF when I left uni but now… well, I mean I kinda blew that. So yeah. That's me."  
Shane nods at me, digesting my story. I've never really gone so in depth with someone before.  
"So you're not just a guy then?" he asks seriously. Damn, guy knows his stuff.  
"Nope, I'm agender. And polysexual. And panromantic."  
I throw my romantic orientation in too just to test him, but he seems unfazed, nodding happily.  
"Well, I'm glad because I'm bisexual and I think we should go to one of our apartments before we drink this coffee shop dry."

He drops his glasses and winks seductively before replacing them. I drain the remainder of what must be my fourth coffee today and jump up to pay. Shane insists on paying though, and we argue back and forth until we split the bill, apologising to the girl behind the counter. Walking out of the cafe laughing like a couple of twelve year olds, I lead us towards my flat. About a block down the road, he pauses.

"Wait, where are we going?" he asks seriously.  
"Oh, my flat. Is that okay?" I ask, turning to him. "It's about five more blocks."

He nods, smiling again. "As long as you're not following me and you can walk me back to my car or something, because I have never been this far before."

I nod reassuringly and tentatively brush my hand against his. Sparks shoot up my arm like his is electrified. He smiles at me and takes my hand and we walk like that the rest of the way home.


	5. the flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is in the style of jane austen, and by that i mean i've written myself into it very heavily and there is a bit of romance or something approaching it. they go back to the flat.

When we get to the flat, I unlock the door and kick the stuck hinge, ushering him inside. It's a fairly modern apartment but for some reason that one hinge stopped working about a week after I moved in. I've been pestering the landlord ever since but not too much - honestly, I don't fancy him knocking on the door while I'm "cooking".

Shane pulls off his worn black Converse and leaves them neatly, toes out, next to my hallstand. I sit down on the couch to unlace my boots, chucking them into my bedroom then wincing as they thud to the floor.  
"Oh shit, that's not… that's not good behaviour in front of a guest. Actually, I should have cleaned up yesterday. Um, gimme a sec," I stutter, rushing around to pick up clothes and put dishes in the dishwasher. I hadn't realised how filthy the flat had gotten.  
As I dash about to tidy up, Shane watches me with reflective silver eyes and a smile working at his hardened features. Eventually I've got the place looking kind of hospitable and I gesture for him to sit down.  
"Why are you standing there grinning at me like a fool?" I ask with a teasing grin. "You wanna watch some TV?"  
He nods his assent, taking off his Oakleys to reveal his handsome blue eyes sparkling at me through smile-creased eyelids. I grin back at him, but I can't help noticing the scars. They're sunken and paler than the rest of his skin and speak of harrowing times and a life lost. No, not lost, I correct myself; just traded. I switch the TV on and turn it down a little, flicking through the channels.  
"It's like one o'clock and we haven't had lunch. Want me to whip something up? Or maybe we could get some takeaway, because honestly I'm not an awesome cook. And there's not a whole lot in the cupboard at the moment." I'm rambling on but Shane stops me with a finger to my lips. I shiver at the touch and he smiles.  
"Soren. Shut up. Your apartment is fine, and throwing your boots is fine, and takeout is fine. I'm nobody fancy, ok."  
His kind words wash over me like a warm shower, and I melt. He drops his hand to hold mine again.  
"Sorry, it's just… oh never mind."  
"No, what?"  
"Well, you see, I don't bring people to my flat. Ever. Because of my profession. Which means I don't make many friends. And I really want to impress you because… uh…"  
I could have punched myself. Did I really just say that? My cheeks were heating up already.  
"…you have a crush on me?" Shane provided, and then my cheeks were definitely hot and probably quite a full red. My mouth dropped open. "No, it's okay, I mean, I kinda have a crush on you too."  
Well. There you go. Motive suspicion confirmed.  
"So you like short chubby uni dropouts with bad hair?" I mutter drily.  
"Well, yeah, maybe, I dunno. You're pretty hot."  
Well shit. This Marine doesn't need a weapon to be deadly because I'm down and out.

The silence stretches out for a long time until I manage to break it.  
"Uh, pizza sound ok?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i took so long to update everyone, got a bit snowed under with school.


	6. Poor Pizza Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Some smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for kind of abandoning this fic! i'm gonna upload all of the remaining chapters now as a peace offering.

This has become ridiculously regular. Shane never even became a customer of mine, and I'm starting to deal less and less. I've got a comfy bank account and a boyfriend and I'm thinking about going back to uni. For that to happen, I need to not get found out. But I don't give a shit.  
Every day, I do my runs and my drop offs and then Shane comes around and we make out, watch shitty romcoms, and eat pizza. The pizza guy knows us well enough by now that we just leave the door unlocked and the money on the hall table. He delivers the pizza right into our laps these days and we have our little chats unless Shane and I are busy kissing in which case he puts the pizza in the kitchen and leaves awkwardly. It only happened once, okay?!  
Anyway, sometimes we break it up with Chinese or Thai takeout to balance things out and sometimes I set up my equipment to bubble away behind us while we watch telly. It's a nice routine. This goes on for a while, until one day the long-suffering Dave the pizza guy walks in on me giving Shane a blowjob on the couch.  
We're having a nice time, drinking apple juice with vodka in his because I hate alcohol (ironic huh) and watching Love Actually. It's a balmy summer evening and I've got the windows open, letting a soft breeze in. Anyway, we end up mock wrestling after I pointed out that Colin Firth is not too bad looking, and I lost badly which meant a prize for him which meant sex. Of course.  
In fairness, by the time I had his pants off I'd forgotten about the pizza completely, so I can't really be held to account here… anyway, I'm sucking him off and he's grabbing my hair and moaning in a fucking criminal manner and in comes Dave with two large pizzas and a garlic bread and the most shocked expression I've ever seen under a Domino's cap. He clears his throat awkwardly and I spring back like a startled cat. Shane scrambles to pull a cushion over his straining erection as I smack my head on the entertainment unit.  
"Fuck, Dave, mate, this is so not right, man I'm so sorry, I totally forgot that we ordered pizza… fuck, dude, I'm sorry, here just…" I spouted, grabbing my wallet and dumping a wad of money in his hand and grabbing the pizza. Needless to say, poor Dave never delivered our pizza again.


	7. To The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination. Sorry the last chapter was so short - this one is extra long to compensate. I hope you've enjoyed my fic! Please comment/leave kudos so I know what you think :)

Shane lives with me now. We cleaned my drug shit out thoroughly as we could and dumped it all in a massive garbage bag except for the gloves we wore and took it to a police station, dropped it outside as quickly as possible then got out of there. That was one of the most terrifying things I'd ever done and I spent days afterwards jumping every time the phone rang or there was a knock on the door or a police car came past. It was on the drive from the station to Kissane's when I broached the topic.

"What do you think about me going back to uni? Finishing my paramedicine degree?" I asked softly. The late night radio announcer crooned softly into his microphone on the other side of the city, filling the void in our conversation.  
"Well, I mean, it's your life right? You're cleaning yourself up, so why not? It's not like you don't have the money."  
I nodded. "It's not just that though. I mean, it'll take up a hell of a lot of my time and it'll be stressful, probably for both of us, and at the end of it I'll probably end up with a crazy job that demands a lot from me and… yeah. Big deal."  
Shane nodded understandingly. "Believe me, I get it," he murmured. "I mean, I'm a career Marine. That's high demand if ever I saw it. But I wouldn't lose you for anything."

That seemed to settle it. So I set about reapplying the next day, and now? Now I'm about to graduate, thank god, and I've got a job with the Queensland Ambulance Service all lined up. Shane and I are celebrating our five year anniversary tomorrow, just us.

*********

It’s on the way home from my graduation ceremony that Shane tells me his plan. He wants to go back to the Marines. I just sit there in shock, staring at the highway ahead of me. Finally, I manage to make a coherent sentence in my head. I clear my throat and glance at him, see his familiar sunglasses staring right back at me.  
“Well… I mean… it’s been so long… why?”  
Shane looks hurt, and I instantly regret it. He’s alway supported me… what the hell am I doing?  
“Look, Shane, that’s not what I meant. You know that. I don’t… God, we’ve been together for so long now, it’s just so strange to think of us as not being together anymore. But if that’s what you want to do, then I respect your decision and I’ll support you.”  
It’s silent for a long time, the stupid pop tunes coming out of the radio passing through my head without registering. The tunnel lights flicker past as we don’t look at each other, don’t say anything. To be honest, I’m hurt too. Why the hell would he want to leave? He’s almost an Australian permanent resident now… I’m confused and annoyed and a bit scared. I take a second to look at him and see his emotionless face staring straight ahead, just like the face I used to pull when I was marching, back in my cadet days. It makes me want to stab myself, the blatant lack of emotions on his face, even though I know from experience that inside is a whirlpool of emotions just like mine.  
“I want to go back, and see my old friends again, and prove I’m not broken anymore. Just like you did with your uni degree. I… We did this together, yeah, and you’ve reached your little epiphany of recovery and I want to go back and get mine. My unit looked up to me, and then I broke, and now I need to go back and be strong again.” His voice starts to break and I know he’s struggling to hold it in, how much this really means to him. I feel awful.  
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry… I never… I mean, I didn’t even think about you ever going back. I always just kind of assumed that you’d decided not to go back. I wish I had’ve talked to you about it more, now. I can tell it means a lot and I can tell I’m making you uncomfortable with all this sappy shit so I’ll stop but I want you to know that I understand, okay? And I’m proud of you, in some stupid way, and I’m happy that you’ve gotten past all that shit that happened to you. Because that’s messed up, what you experienced, and I never could’ve got past it.”  
Everything goes quiet again save for the stereo and we burst out into the bright sun and I’m tearing up and he’s snivelling and goddamnit, why do I not have my sunglasses in the damn sunglasses compartment because I live in Australia and the sun is bright and then Shane puts his sunnies on my stupid face and I know we’re in it for the long run, and I know he’s not gonna leave me just yet, and we’ll sort everything out because he’s my boyfriend and that’s the end of it.  
So there we are, crying down the highway at 100 kilometres an hour, telling each other to stop being so sappy all the time. And we get back to my apartment and I open the door and kick the stuck hinge and he puts his worn black converse next to the hallstand toes out and I throw my boots into my, no, our bedroom and we fuck on the couch and everything’s okay because it’s just like the first time I ever brought him home and we’re still here after eight stupid years and we’ll be together for more yet.


End file.
